Chapter 39
My Brother’s Keeper
Damien
Ultimately, it’s my decision. Our warriors are exhausted. Everyone needs food and rest.
But there can be no rest.
Catarina informs me that the shield holding off New Stygarde’s troops won’t last more than an hour. If we rest, we die. If we rest, we give the enemy time to regroup. In this war, there is no time for rest until it is done.
I turn to Jaqual. “It’s now or never.”
“I agree. We end this today.” The Rivertoad king looks to Maeve. “I don’t suppose you can manage another army on our behalf?”
Maeve shakes her head sleepily. “Not a chance. The only bones I’ll be animating tonight are my own.”
We both focus on Eloise. “Phantom?”
“I can reanimate the dragon, but it will take time and energy. Time I’m afraid we don’t have. For this fight, you can’t count on my magic, only my blades.”
I kiss her soundly on the lips. A hard, fast kiss. It’s all we can afford. “It’s enough,” I whisper.
I stride to the center of the crowd and climb atop one of the large rocks that peppers this part of the battlefield.
The men and women around me are ready to fight, even though they can barely stand.
I hold up Entrydal’s crown. “Tonight, we take back what is rightfully ours. We end the nightmare that has held all of us in its grasp for far too long, and we restore the kingdom—for each of you and each of your children. I know you want to stop. You need rest. But I must ask you to keep going until we reach the castle. There are two more crowns that must be collected tonight. Crowns that belong to you.” I swallow hard, and it’s so quiet, I can hear it.
“And once we have those crowns, everything changes. For I will not be your king by blood any longer.” A murmur rises in the crowd.
“The one who wears the next crown of Stygarde will be elected by you and will serve your will. We will create a government, not for the benefit of the kingdom, but for the benefit of the people!”
A cheer rises up around me, so loud and clear that it rings in my ears. Fists and swords and voices crescendo to a chorus of shouts. Somewhere, a horn blows. All around me, shades shift into their battle form, ready to fight.
I raise my own fist into the air. “For Stygarde!”
I nod at Catarina. She signals to the other witches to drop their shield.
And we fight.
I’m a warrior, but I don’t love war. No one does.
Still, there’s a rhythm to it. A dance. A chorus of clashing swords.
The flap of beastly wings. The slash of barbed tails.
Shadows twisting in and out of existence as the moon rises, light pouring like spilled milk over trampled red wheat.
The squish of boots in blood-soaked earth. The gnashing of teeth.
Nothing prepares me for the moment the soldier I’m fighting shadoweaves away and I’m left staring at a child.
No, a wall of children, their swords held loosely in their hands.
This is Nevina’s final shield. To get to the queen, we must sacrifice the pawns.
And there are so many pawns. Despite my promise to do the opposite, I hesitate.
The young girl in front of me trembles, meets my gaze. Her eyes are clear.
She drops her sword. They all do. And then I see Undaku hugging a young man across the battlefield.
Our teams part, and we let the children through.
Along the shadow network, I hear Tempest ordering her healers to take them to the medical tents.
I feel the collective exhale of held breath.
Eloise’s plan worked! The children are ours.
The children are free. The young ones clear the way, and then it is just us, the warriors of the resistance, against a small unit of silver coats that stands between us and the doors of Stygarde Castle.
My team engages with the remaining troops.
I shove through the doors.
It has to be me. The resurrected prince returns.
The risen dead come to reclaim his stolen life.
I charge into the castle foyer and pass under the crest that is not mine.
Brahm once told me that the depiction of the red and white stags, their horns entwined, represented how the prosperity of Stygarde and Willowgulch were dependent on each other.
Nevina and her father promised peace but inflicted servitude.
Today, I am the red stag come to lock horns with the white, not for peace but for vengeance.
The foyer is a blank canvas, draped in the colors of Willowgulch.
The silver easily stains with the blood and filth that drip off me.
With every step, I leave my mark.
Banias waits for me at the end of the hall, guarding the stairs, dressed in his finery, his sword raised.
“Alone?” I ask. His grip trembles. “I did notice a few of your closest friends sinking into the mud on my way in—parts of your friends.” His throat bobs.
“Now, it’s just you and me. Well, until the rest of my army comes through those doors and my mate with her dragon, flanked by the witches of Dimhollow and the parents of all the children you stole. ”
The tip of his sword wavers violently.
“I’m tempted to let them have you.”
Banias pales.
I haven’t even reached the man. Our swords have yet to touch.
But I see the moment he gives up. Men like him feast on scraps of power and are never brave enough to go without it.
He doesn’t beg me for his life or give himself up.
He simply swings his sword in the wrong direction and slices through his own neck.
It’s a grisly wound, incomplete in its execution but effective. His blood paints the silver carpet red. The light bleeds from his eyes. He makes no effort to fight the darkness that comes for him.
Thanesia can deal with him now.
My boots splash through the pooling crimson as I step over his corpse, and I trail blood up the white steps to the second level.
A servant in the hall points toward my brother’s office.
She looks painfully thin and relieved to see me, despite everything.
I halt my steps when I notice a sunlight cuff around her neck.
Rage fills me at the blisters that form along the edge—at the torture this woman has endured.
With the tip of Dawnbreaker, I carefully break it off her.
Before it even clatters to the ground, she’s shifted.
Thank you, I hear along the network of shadows, and then she’s gone.
I continue to my brother’s office. Locked. I break it open with a firm kick, the wood splintering from the force and the door dangling off the frame.
My brother stands alone behind his desk, his crown on his head and a dagger in his hand.
“It was Nevina, brother. She had me under her spell! I had no choice in any of this,” he whines.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Arrest me, then. Let the people have a trial. I will explain everything.”
I take a step toward him. “You want me to take you to the stockade? You want the people to decide what to do with you?”
“Yes, yes, brother.” He points a knuckle at me.
“You know I’ve always been a fuckup, prone to the seduction of women and drink.
I can’t be held responsible for my actions.
I was conned by the dark elves. I’m as much a victim here as you.
And the children. I had nothing to do with that.
It was all her doing. I was in no position to stop her, Damien. I had no real power.”
“No power as king? That’s an interesting take.” I move another heavy step toward him. “No money in the coffers. No access to soldiers to carry out your will. No ability to walk out the door.”
He scoffs. “Not without losing everything. I had to maintain our family’s power here. It was a long game.”
“Maintain the throne by killing our father.”
He grows more flustered. I slide another step toward him.
“You don’t understand. I had no other choice in the matter. I’m not like you, Damien. I can’t survive outside these walls. I did what I had to do. If Mother were alive, she’d tell you. I’ve always been sickly. I’ve always been easily swayed. I was entrapped, Damien. You must believe me!”
His eyes are wide and watery, his nose and cheeks red with his airless babbling.
The crown on his head has slipped to the side, resting askew like the crown of a jester.
Stubble fills the grooves of his cheeks.
It occurs to me that I have only seen a single servant, and she looked tortured.
I suspect that once the children were freed, the young ones used what remained of Eloise’s potion to break the enchantment on the help, and any servants who could leave did.
I wonder if this older, frail Brahm is the result of missing a meal or two in these final days.
The thought gives me a measure of happiness.
“Good news, Brahm.”
His lips spread into a wobbly smile. “You’ll take me alive, then?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Mother and Karyl survived. They’ve been living among the witches this entire time. And, thanks to some brilliant magic, they saw what you did to Father. Saw what you did with your own two hands when Nevina was nowhere near you.”
The corners of Brahm’s eyes tighten, and his expression morphs from a sniveling idiot to a caged animal in a heartbeat. His lips peel off his teeth, and he raises his dagger, his sneer an ugly mask of narcissistic rage. “Father deserved what he got, and so do you!” He slashes toward me.
I’m physically exhausted, but his movements are so slow and unpracticed, I easily step out of the way.
The tip of his dagger sinks into the opposite edge of the desk, the weight of his blow carrying his body over it, and my sword comes down.
Dawnbreaker’s Stygian steel easily severs his thin neck.
His head drops, and his crown rolls like a coin on its edge.
It clinks and clanks on its journey through the open door, where it hits the far wall and topples over onto its side.
I wipe my sword clean on the back of Brahm’s velvet tunic.
Voices and commotion come from below. My men have entered the castle and are searching every abandoned room, securing what is left of this crumbling stronghold. I hear them call my name, but I don’t answer. I have one more crown to collect, and I know just where to find it.